


Just Like Old Times

by TheRaven



Series: Recovery [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, first time in 70 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1542677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve have their first time in 70 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Old Times

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a companion story to the fic "Make Me Whole," to be read between the first and third chapters. It does stand on its own, but there is a larger story here.

Bucky stands several feet behind the chair where Steve sits, researching something on the laptop. It's late in the evening on a Saturday, and normal people are out at parties instead of lounging around like old men. Bucky's not up for parties yet, though, so there's not much of a choice. Even Avengers Game Nights are too much for him most of the time. He prefers to be left alone with Steve, the only person he knows he can trust.

And he's just worked up the courage to try something.

“Hey, uh, Steve,” he says haltingly.

“Yeah?” Steve replies, turning away from the laptop. “Need something?”

“I was thinking,” Bucky says carefully, then stops.

“You were thinking...” Steve urges him on.

“I think I want you to, uh, try...touching me,” Bucky says quietly.

“Bucky, I already...oh,” Steve says. “Oh. Okay.”

It's not like Bucky to be this shy about sex, but having every semblance of free will tortured out of him for seventy years understandably did a number on him, so it isn't entirely unexpected that he would be hesitant. At least, that's what Bucky tells himself when he remembers how it used to be. It used to be him initiating sexual contact, and enthusiastically at that. Bucky feels a little jealous when he remembers these things, as though the Bucky from the 1940s is a completely different person to the Bucky now. Which, he supposes, he kind of is.

Still, Steve is looking at him with this tender, excited, scared look that Bucky isn't sure if he wants to see forever or never again, and he closes the laptop and stands up and walks the two steps it takes to get within arm's length of him. Steve studies his face like he's looking for something, shrugs, and closes the gap to kiss him. Bucky stiffens, unsure of how to react, but muscle memory takes over soon enough, and he kisses back, parting his lips so Steve can nervously gain entrance to his mouth.

It feels good, so he haltingly puts his arms around Steve, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades and the other on the small of his back, both pressing them together. Steve cups the back of his neck in one hand and rests the other on his hip, and it feels perfectly natural that they would do this, even if Bucky hadn't had all those memories of the two of them before he fell. Bucky tugs at Steve's bottom lip with his teeth when he pulls back to get some air and makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat.

“You always were kinda pushy,” Steve laughs. “Come on, it's more comfortable to do this on the bed.”

Steve leads him into the bedroom and to the bed, where Steve reclines in a way that's both eager and nervous, and Bucky can't help but notice the pulse in his throat. He pushes the thought away and carefully climbs on top of him, dipping his head so their lips meet again, and suddenly Steve is pushing up against him, hands everywhere, and grinding against his groin. Bucky pulls away, startled, and Steve looks terrified.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Was that too much?”

“No,” Bucky says, trying to articulate how it was most certainly not too much, just too sudden. “Just give me a minute to process everything.”

He closes his eyes against the flood of memories and takes deep, even breaths. Eventually, things sort themselves out in his mind, and he's able to open his eyes again and look down at a very worried but clearly still very willing Steve and give the closest thing to a smile he can manage right now. Steve lets out a breath Bucky isn't aware he was holding and reaches out to pull him down again.

Bucky's the one who initiates the removal of clothes. He pulls Steve's shirt over his head, then tugs off his own. Steve's body is perfect, of course, but Bucky keeps getting flashes of a smaller body, more delicate and equally as perfect, as he runs his hands over Steve's chest and sides, counting ribs and feeling the tautness of muscle under his fingertips. Steve grips him like he's afraid Bucky's going to disappear, and he grinds against him until it's almost painful. Not that Bucky particularly minds pain, but he decides then that even one layer of clothing between them is too much.

He hurriedly unfastens Steve's belt and unbuttons, unzips his trousers. He's wearing threadbare boxers, which Bucky wastes no time in divesting him of as well, and Steve starts in on Bucky's jeans. They're a little harder to get off of him—Bucky's really taken to the whole skinny jeans thing—but Steve manages without ripping them to shreds. Then they're both naked, sitting across from each other on the bed, and Bucky's holding Steve's gaze and unable to look away.

“So how do you wanna do this, Buck?” Steve asks, and it takes a moment for the words to register.

“I, uh, hadn't really thought that far ahead,” Bucky admits.

Steve laughs.

“Whatever's more comfortable for you,” he says.

Bucky has to think about that. When he searches his memories, he finds about equal instances of giving and receiving penetrative sex. He can't remember if he liked one or the other more, but he knows that both feel good in different ways. There's that nagging voice in the back of his head that says he'll hurt Steve if he isn't careful, though. That pretty much decides it for him.

“You better...this time,” Bucky says, still awkward with discussing sex. “I wouldn't know what to do.”

“Yeah, you would,” Steve insists, “but if you're more comfortable this way, that's fine. Here, get on your back. I want to see you.”

For dirty talk, that's positively chaste, but it sends a jolt through him. Bucky obeys, not mechanically like he would one of his handlers, but eagerly. Lying on his back, legs spread and perfectly vulnerable, makes the part of him that is still the Winter Soldier scream at him, demand that he defend himself, but there's nothing to defend against. Just Steve, who fishes an unopened bottle of lubricant from the bedside table and slicks up his fingers.

“It's been awhile,” Steve says, and Bucky thinks that's the most ridiculously obvious thing he's heard in a long time, “so make sure to tell me if anything feels wrong. I don't want to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, watching him.

Steve goes slowly, too slowly, in Bucky's opinion. He slowly works one finger into him, working him open on just that finger until Bucky growls impatiently. He adds a second and scissors them, making Bucky moan and shudder. The Winter Soldier is screaming in the back of Bucky's mind, telling him it's a trap, that his mark is just lulling him into a false sense of security, but Bucky shoves the voice aside and tries to focus on how Steve is making him feel.

“I can take more,” he pants.

Steve grins and adds a third finger.

“Better?” he asks, a little mischievously. 

“Yeah,” Bucky grunts, pushing back against the fingers.

Steve works him open much longer than he needs to, but finally, he withdraws his fingers. Bucky groans at the loss, but Steve silences him with a kiss.

“Ready?” he asks.

Bucky nods, watching Steve line himself up. For a second, he sees Steve as he was before the serum, all ribs and elbows, but he blinks and it's Steve as he is now again. Then he pushes in, slow but steady, and the screaming in the back of his mind fades away. He wraps a leg around Steve's waist and claws at his back with his flesh-and-blood arm (he's still a little awkward about his metal one, so he leaves it to grip the sheets at his side). Steve swallows Bucky's moans with another kiss, waiting for him to get used to the feeling of him inside him before he starts to move.

And when he does start to move, Bucky remembers exactly why they did this so often in the old days. Every nerve ending in him, along with the artificial ones in his metal arm, is on fire. It's almost overwhelming when Steve hits his prostate with a well-angled thrust, and Bucky buries his face in Steve's shoulder. Steve just laughs and asks him if he wants him to pick up the pace, which he desperately does.

Bucky doesn't last long, it being his first time in seventy years and all. He comes with Steve's name on his lips and a grip so tight on his shoulder that it'll leave bruises. Rapidly-healing ones, but they'll be there long enough to remind Bucky that they should do this again at every opportunity. Steve fucks him through it, pausing when it's over to let him catch his breath before he finds his own orgasm. Bucky begs him not to stop when he comes back to himself, because he shouldn't be the only one to feel this good. Steve obeys, and even though Bucky's oversensitive as hell and it's almost too much for him, he's happier than he can remember being in decades when Steve shudders and loses his rhythm.

“Was that good?” Steve asks him when he recovers enough to speak.

“Much better than good,” Bucky says with a laugh. “You haven't lost your touch, Stevie.”

“Does this mean you'll be up for it again sometime?” Steve asks, looking over at him.

“Give me five minutes,” Bucky says with a smirk, “and I think I'll be up for another round.”

“That's what I was hoping you'd say,” Steve says, grinning.


End file.
